


Out of Sync

by Mellorine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alt-Mode Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellorine/pseuds/Mellorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Constructicons corner Prowl. Maybe they should have explained exactly why beforehand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Sync

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [metalicats](http://metalicats.tumblr.com/) in celebration of her newfound alt-mode kink (even though it turned out to be more PnP than alt-mode, whoops). Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> Somehow it ended up being a character-driven fic instead of the mindless PWP I wanted it to be, so the sex scene isn't nearly as long as it deserves to be. Also, OT6's are fuckin' hard. How do people do it. How. Please teach me your secrets.

Prowl’s suspension rattled as he sped through the ruins of Iacon. He could feel the omnipresent thrum of excitement-anticipation-nervousness through the gestalt bond, but he’d lost visual contact with the Constructicons.

Not good.

The day had started out normal, if you could call the farcical nightmare that was Megatron’s ongoing trail normal. But it was understandable. Insane, yes, but something Prowl could wrap his processor around. It kept him occupied, it kept him engaged with the other Autobots, and most importantly, it kept him from having to deal with the _problem_ constantly edging its way forward from the back of his mind.

So things had been, on a scale from normal to “Shockwave harnessing the power of the dead universe to kill everything and everyone that ever was,” slightly more towards the normal end.

Of course, Prowl had long since given up hoping that things could ever stay normal for any decent amount of time.

It had begun with a glass of high-grade left on his desk. Provenance unknown, he had tossed it out immediately. A twinge of disappointment that _definitely_ wasn’t his own clued him in as to whom his mysterious benefactor might be.

Later, as he’d been making his way to a meeting with Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus, Bonecrusher had shown up, offering to carry his datapad. Never mind that he always kept his datapads secured in subspace.

After the meeting, Hook had popped into his office, offering to give him a quick scan “just to check that the gestalt code is holding up.” Prowl had shut the door so quickly Hook’s crane chain had gotten snagged, and Prowl had had the pleasure of spending a few victorious breems basking in the indignation seeping from Hook’s end of the gestalt bond as he unsnarled it from the doorframe.

When he reached the end of the day, only to return to his quarters to find, sitting outside, a pile of rebar with a note attached that read “useful salvage? –S ♥,” he’d taken that as the last straw and decided to go for a drive.

In hindsight, possibly not the most tactically sound decision he’d made in his career.

Long Haul had started stalking him (“Not stalking! Escorting!”) almost as soon as he’d left Metroplex. Which, in turn, had led to Prowl gunning his engine and taking off deep into Iacon.

It had been a calming, relaxing drive. Just the catharsis he needed to get the _problem_ off his mind. The sun had slunk lower toward the horizon, casting stark shadows through the skeletal remains of Iacon when he noticed his tail. Not Long Haul, to his surprise, but Bonecrusher.

Easy enough to slip this tail; a bulldozer could never outrun a pursuit vehicle. But with every slip he’d inevitably found himself cut off by one or another of the Constructicons, until he’d found himself on a straightaway leading west, out of Iacon, away from Metroplex.

The entire thing had been a trap, and the only person Prowl was more furious with than the Constructicons was himself for being so inexcusably stupid.

Notifications popped up on his HUD. Low fuel – ignored; not a problem he could deal with right now anyway. Meeting in 3.5 joors – ignored; not a problem he _wanted_ to deal with right now. Incoming obstruction – wait, what?

His tires screeched and he fishtailed as he braked before the roadblock and scanned for movement. There –

Too late, he spotted Mixmaster edging out from behind an outcropping; too late, he sensed the triumph blaring through the bond.

Mixmaster raised his weapon and fired.

 

* * *

 

Prowl slammed back online, his HUD blaring alerts at him.

He was alive.

He was undamaged.

He was… _stuck_.

Trying to transform out of alt-mode resulted in a sickening _chgk-chgk-chgk_ from his transformation cog as his wheels failed to lift free from the gummy substance coating the road.

Mixmaster hovered anxiously. “You okay, boss? It wasn’t supposed to knock you out like that.”

Prowl checked his tracker. Four points were converging on his position. At the rate they were going he had about two breems to pull free and get out of there.

His engine snarled and Mixmaster snatched his servo back from where he’d rested it on Prowl’s hood.

“Sorry!” He tentatively reached back. “You’re okay, right? Frag, Hook’s gonna kill me.”

One breem left. He tried moving again, but the tacky goo had stuck fast to his wheels, and his engine whined uselessly.

Mixmaster winced. “Ah, boss, don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Prowl snorted. “You shot me. And you’re worried about me getting hurt?”

Mixmaster cringed, his distress pulsing through the gestalt bond. “I didn’t want to hurt you! We just thought–”

“We just thought,” interrupted Bonecrusher, as the rest of the Constructicons came into view. “It was time we talked.”

So much for his chances of escape.

“If you want to talk to me,” Prowl grated, not even attempting to stifle his fury, “you schedule an appointment. You don’t chase me out into the middle of nowhere and _glue me to the road_.”

“But you keep running away!” wailed Scavenger.

If Prowl had been in root mode, his glare would have stripped paint. As it was, his caustic contempt shot through the bond.

Hook huffed. “We can stand here and talk about it all day, but the fact is the gestalt bond’s gonna suffer if this keeps up.”

“And?” Prowl replied coolly.

“The gestalt bond suffers,” Hook snapped, his irritation edging up against the concern emanating from the other Constructicons, “gestalt integrity suffers. Gestalt integrity suffers, the gestalt components suffer. D’ya need me to draw you a diagram, or should I ask Ratchet?”

“Is that a threat?” Prowl’s engine rumbled.

“Do you need it to be?” Hook crossed his arms, his irritation unwavering.

“What are you trying to imply?”

“It’s just, you need this boss,” the rest of the group chimed in.

“Yeah, we all need this.”

“We’re a team now.”

“So just relax.”

“Let us do the work for once.”

Long Haul slowly reached out and ran his servo across Prowl’s lightbar.

Prowl flinched, his tires pulling at the glue. “What are you doing?” His corner of the bond bled sudden unease.

“S’okay, boss.” Long Haul scraped his fingertips along the edges of the lightbar, and Prowl shuddered. “Just let us handle it.”

Mixmaster shuffled up and, kneeling next to Prowl, dipped his servos into one of his wheel wells. “Sorry I shot you.”

Prowl’s ventilations hitched. He should send out a distress signal. It would take at least a half joor for anyone to reach him, but he could hold out that long.

The Constructicons tensed as Prowl’s anxiety flooded the bond, and Mixmaster and Long Haul backed away. “This isn’t working,” Scavenger whined.

“ _What_ isn’t working,” Prowl snapped.

Hook massaged his nasal ridge. “Look, we’re going about this all wrong. Here,” he clicked open a panel in his side and drew out a cable. “Let us show you. Please.”

Four sets of optics and visors brightened, and as one they exchanged cables in a confused tangle. Prowl’s headlights flickered as he felt the bond _shift_ , as five sides of the gestalt bond slowly melded into one. It was like…

It was like combining.

Prowl was suddenly struck with the visceral _need_ to join, to combine, to be one, and his engine red-lined as he throttled that need. No. He didn’t need to join, he didn’t _want_ to join. That was the entirety of the _problem_ and he’d be damned if –

Hook reached out and hit the manual access to his panel.

“Wait,” he started, but five cables slotted into five ports (five? _that_ was new) and all his firewalls slammed down, recognizing his gestalt mates as self, and unity bloomed through the bond.

The two remaining points, Constructicons and Prowl, became one.

Became _Devastator._

_Not quite Devastator_ , Hook’s calming voice echoed across the link.

_Yeah,_ added Mixmaster. _If we’d actually combined, we wouldn’t be able to do this._

Five sets of servos reached out and ran across Prowl’s chassis, and without even looking Prowl knew who’s were which.

The one that went immediately to his lightbar was Long Haul, his large servos stroking up and down its length.

The tentative touch to his grill was Scavenger, his giddy eagerness betraying his intent as his servos were quickly followed by his glossa.

Mixmaster returned to Prowl’s wheel wells, gentling the stress put upon them by the sticky adhesive.

The servo reaching for his rear plating was Bonecrusher, and Prowl’s engine let out a gentle rev as Bonecrusher dug into his transformation seams.

Hook stroked along one of Prowl’s windshields, and without thinking he retracted it, allowing Hook’s servo to reach inside his cab.

Sensation bombarded Prowl’s sensor net, physically and mentally.

_See?_ Long Haul said. _It’s good, right?_

“Why _–_ ” Prowl’s voice hitched and he mentally cursed himself, and five flavors of reassurance and acceptance reached out towards him. _Why are you doing this?_

_We already told you._ Bonecrusher said. _You need this._

_You need us._

_And we need you, too._

_Ever since Scrapper,_ grief echoed across the bond, _we’ve been all messed up._

_But with you everything’s so much better._

_It’s like we’re whole again._

The Constructicons pulsed pleasure across the hardline, and Prowl’s ventilations hitched as it hit his sensor net and bounced back towards them, echoing back and forth six ways, gaining in intensity each time. With the intensity of the sensations ricocheting across the bond, Prowl barely registered that Bonecrusher palming Hook’s interface cover, or Scavenger planting sloppy kisses all over Long Haul’s faceplate were acts happening outside his own body.

It was him arching up into Bonecrusher’s servo.

It was his glossa swiping along his own transformation seams.

It was his lips pressed to Long Haul’s faceplate, and his faceplate that nuzzled Scavenger in return.

It was his servos thrust inside his own cab, roughly stroking.

_You okay, boss?_

Was he okay? More importantly, if he wasn’t, would they stop?

Sudden fear gripped Prowl, and the Constructicons froze.

_Aw, frag, you’re not okay._

_Stop, everybody stop. Stop!_

_Okay okay okay, we stopped. Yeesh._

_What are we supposed to do now?_

_We’ll, I dunno, we’ll finish it later. Without Prowl._

_That’s not gonna help!_

_Well what do you want me to do?_

_We could find out what other people do?_

_If you’re seriously considering asking the Stunticons for advice I’m going to ram my hook straight up your aft._

_Okay, fine, I take it back. Why do you hate them so much?_

_You hate them too!_

“Stop talking,” Prowl bit out, and the Constructicons twitched and looked over at him. “What are you talking about? What is going on? Explain. Now.”

Prowl tuned out the noise over the bond as the Constructicons bickered amongst themselves over who should explain. Finally, Bonecrusher smacked Hook over the helm and turned to face Prowl.

“We’re outta sync. Us five’ve been out of sync since Earth, but now we got a new gestalt member –”

“That’s you,” Long Haul interrupted, and Bonecrusher glared at him.

“And, uh, circumstances being as fragged as they were when we first combined, it ended up getting worse.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. What is going on?”

“We gotta frag,” Mixmaster shrugged.

“Jeez mech, practice your berthtalk, willya?” said Scavenger.

“So you’re saying that if we don’t,” Prowl had never before wanted so much for the ground to crack open and swallow him whole, “ _interface_ , we’ll stay out of sync? And this is a problem?”

“Well yeah, we’ll have problems combining, for one,” said Hook.

“How terrible,” Prowl deadpanned.

“ _And,_ ” Hook went on, “continued lack of synchronization can lead to spark palpitations, problems with your T-cog, and a general lack of energy.”

“It’s awful,” Scavenger complained.

Prowl was speechless. This was the worst day of his life. Forget the crash of the _Peaceful Resolution_ , forget Spike’s betrayal. He’d survived four million years of civil war, and now it was frag or –

“Will I die?” Prowl asked.

“Oh wow, I hope not,” said Bonecrusher.

“So you don’t know,” said Prowl.

“Well we’ve always fragged before it got that bad so…no?”

“Whatever, it’s fine, forget it,” snapped Hook. “We’ll ask Flatline. Or Ratchet, I guess.”

No, scratch what he’d thought before. The day he had to ask Ratchet for interface-related medical advice would be the worst day of his life. And there was no way in the Pit he was going to trust a _medic_ named _Flatline_.

Prowl steeled himself.

“I’m going to set some ground rules. You break any of these rules and we can all die of cybercrosis for all I care,” said Prowl.

“Wait, what?” asked Long Haul.

“Rule number one: I say stop, you stop.”

“Oh Primus, he’s agreeing to it,” whispered Scavenger.

“Rule number two: this is a one-time thing. Do not assume that this one instance translates into any other instances of this ever happening again.”

“Rule number three: Do not mention this to anyone. If you do, I will shoot you.”

“Do you agree to these terms?

Five heads nodded enthusiastically, and the Constructicons edged forward.

Prowl sighed and sent a pulse through the hardline interface, and five sets of cooling fans roared to life as pleasure thrummed through their circuits and the Constructicons all but collapsed around him.

Servos dug into his transformation seams, his lightbar, his bumper, his wheel wells, his plush cab, and Prowl groaned as the Constructicons flooded the hardline with pleasure. Half bit-off words echoed through the bond, and Prowl found himself immobilized, pinned in place by the sheer intensity of six sets of sensory information buzzing against his sensor net. Six voices moaned as they felt Bonecrusher sink into Hook’s tight valve, grinding Hook up against Prowl’s chassis, and Prowl revved his engine, sending vibrations straight through both of them.

_Frag, Prowl,_ someone breathed, he couldn’t be sure who, _do that again,_ and he gunned his engine harder until Hook was keening and kicking uselessly at the ground, reaching out to scrape his servo along Prowl’s undercarriage. Prowl bucked, straining against the glue, then ground back down as Hook’s fingers teased underneath Prowl, pushing up against the armor plating that protected his spark, as Mixmaster slipped his servo inside Prowl’s cab and massaged from above. His spark spun wildly, and five sparks flared in response.

Scavenger licked a hot stripe down Long Haul’s chestplates, then dragged him down to kneel in front of Prowl’s grill. _You’ll like this, boss. We used to do it with Scrapper all the time_. The grief at hearing Scrapper’s name still flickered across the bond, but lessened this time, tempered with eagerness and the raw determination to make this work, to take the broken gestalt they had been and construct something brand new.

Scavenger and Long Haul laced their fingers through Prowl’s grill and Prowl’s headlights brightened as Scavenger licked along their outline. _Wish I had a fraggin’ mouth,_ Long Haul grumped, to a chorus of catcalls and Mixmaster’s leering _Wish you had a fraggin’ mouth too_.

“Mmmm,” Prowl moaned, and he couldn’t even tell if he’d said that out loud or not. _Just keep doing what you’re doing._

_Can do, boss_ , Long Haul grinned and splayed his massive servos across Prowl’s hood, rubbing into his transformation seams.

Prowl’s ventilations hitched as he felt Bonecrusher pick up the pace of his thrusts into Hook, and his engine whined as Bonecrusher crushed Hook against Prowl, causing Hook’s fingers to push up against Prowl’s undercarriage as Mixmaster’s pushed down, and Long Haul and Scavenger continued their attention of Prowl’s front end.

Scavenger, grinning, licked up from Prowl’s headlights to his lightbar and Prowl caught the barest edge of Scavenger’s intent just before he bit down.

Pleasure-pain flared across the bond and the tight knot of pleasure coiled in the center of the bond burst hot across six sensor nets, bringing Bonecrusher over the cusp to overload in Hook, tripping the rest of them into overload as Bonecrusher’s climax slammed down through the hardline to rebound back and forth between the six of them, until it cooled to a steady hum that vibrated through their circuits.

Armor pinged softly as their plating flared to vent heat. The hardline wires swayed softly in the wind.

“Welcome to the team, boss,” Bonecrusher said from where he’d collapsed on top of Hook, and his sentiment was echoed by the other four.

Prowl sent his amused receipt of the sentiment over the bond, too spent to do anything more. He’d be perfectly content if he could just lie here for a few joors or so –

Frag. He checked his chronometer, and the Constructicons stirred, startled by the sudden annoyance Prowl projected.

“Boss? Something wrong?” Hook asked.

“I have a meeting in two joors. When will this glue dissolve?”

Four optics and two visors swung to look at Mixmaster.

“Um,” he said, radiating guilt. “More than two joors?”

Damn. He considered sending a message to Optimus, but what would it say? Can’t make it to the meeting, gestalt business? Currently glued to the road so I might be a little late? Prowl’s engine rattled unhappily.

“If I’m not there and Optimus decides it’d be a good idea to have another one-on-one with Megatron, I’m blaming each and every one of you.”

The Constructicons wilted.

Sudden mischief over the bond from Long Haul had the group turning to look at him.

“Yes?” asked Prowl, full of suspicion.

“Well,” Long Haul drawled. “We’re stuck out here.”

The other four Constructicons grinned as they caught on.

“Yeah, and it’s getting kinda dark.”

“But don’t you worry boss, we’ll make sure you’re safe and sound.”

Prowl grunted as his gestalt mates flopped on top of him. “Ow, watch it –”

His complaining turned into a sigh as five sets of servos gently massaged his plating.

Satisfaction hummed through the bond, and Prowl slowly drifted into recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. This is un-beta'd and sometimes AO3 eats my paragraphs so if things seem wonky feel free to let me know.


End file.
